The Harlequin

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: Lol. I've written a hell of a lot longer for a bio, believe me. IC: [I]Rali slammed his tankard down on the table, the dwarf in front of him attempting to do the same, and missing horrendously. The short, but broad humanoid stood up slowly, wavered once, and collapsed. He shook the entire inn, which wasn't exactly well constructed in the first place. Rali leaned back in his chair to the sound of whoops and curses. His mercenary friends had bet on him of course, and were collecting their silver from the party of dwarves now. The dwarves had thought it a safe bet. Dwarves always seemed to win drinking contests. But then, they'd never run into a creature who's blood incinerated alcohol upon contact. The head dwarf came over to Rali, an awed look in his eye. He clapped his hand to his chest, and bowed profoundly.[/I] Dwarf: Aye, now ye be a fine man fer heldin good brew! Rali: A little trick I picked up a few years back, you could say. [I]A hardbitten looking dwarf sitting a few feet behind Rali turned around and laughed coarsely. The dwarf's name was Regarth Stonestruck, and strangely enough, both Rali and the other dwarf recognised him.[/I] Dwarf: Regarth ye mangy dog! Where ave ye been these past years! [I]Regarth drained his tankard and stood up.[/I] Regarth: I've been on the road Bregaarn. I've been a mercenary, a blacksmith, a worker and a sometime bounty hunter. Bregaarn: Ye don't be fer sounding like a dwarf anymore even! Regarth: True, true. I've found potential employers find it hard to understand at times. Rali: That and you were sick of hearin bad impersonations. Regarth: Ye two know each other? Rali: We worked together a few times in the past year or two. It made for an interesting partnership. Bregaarn: Well any friend of Regarth's be a friend of me and mine! [I]The dwarf clapped Rali on the back, and would have crushing his wing if Rali hadn't jerked it out of the way. One of his friends walked up and leapt onto the table beside them. Rali assumed he was going to make a speech, or start a drinking song. Instead, he upended the flagon he held over Rali's head. Rali grinned wrly, knowing it a sign of respect and friendship, and pulled his long silver, now drenched, hair out of his eyes.[/I] Rali: So what brings a party of dwarves here? Bregaarn: Why, we're fer finding us a new mine we heard was opening in these parts? [I]Rali's smile vanished.[/I] Rali: I was there a day ago. My advice is stay away. Bregaarn: Aye, we know all about the wererat infestation. Rali: Ye're still fer going then? Ye sandstone headed lout! [I]Bregaarn grinned at the near flawless accent, and the nearby dwarves, including Regarth, burst into a cheer.[/I] Bregaarn: Aye, we are. You fer joining us? Rali: Oh hell yeah. Regarth? Regarth: I'm in. Rali: So, how do you two know each other, anyway? [I]They both faced him, with identical grins. Rali sighed, knowing this tale would take a while in the telling.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]As the attack started, Ulrich and Mykkael spin, unsure of the distane away. It sounded like a kilometre or more away, but the explosions looked frighteningly close. As they watched, small dots traced through the air. And one slightly larger one. Mykkael's eyes narrowed, and he swore bitterly.[/I] Mykkael: That fool! Ulrich: Who? What? Mykkael: That large dot is a dragon named Amatros. I warned Kenratu about him, but he was too blinded by the thought of such a powerful ally. If that's Kenratu out there, which I imagine it would be, he'll be in for a nasty surprise. Ulrich: Kenratu? Nasty surprise? What the hell are you talking about? Mykkael: Kenratu is the leader of the Shades, or he was when I left. From what I can determine, he one of the handful left that are older than I am. And Amratos is older still, I believe. I never really did find out that much about him. But I know this much. They are both engines of destruction. Ulrich: Then why is this Kenratu personage in for a nasty surprise? [I]Mykkael took his eyes off the sky and looked bitterly towards Ulrich.[/I] Mykkael: The same reason I was exiled. [I]We need humans.[/I] Ulrich: Whatever for? [I]Mykkael shook his head, wondering how this human coped. He seemed perfectly rational, not at all concerned by the fact that his race was in danger of extinction.[/I] Mykkael: Simple. We feed off you. Not physically, but certainly etherically. That's because the original Shades were the result of a twisted alchemy that learnt how to replicate itself. [I]Mykkael laughed harshly.[/I] Mykkael: Kenratu's going to get a nasty surprise when he finds out his numbers are decreasing as fast as they're meant to increase. Ulrich: How would they decrease? Mykkael: You humans emit a kind of etheric pulse. That's why the Shades have never risen until now. The pulse did not cover, did not envelope, the world as it does now. As that pulse flickers, then wavers, Shades will start to disappate. Ulrich: You too? Mykkael: Oh certainly. But not for a lot longer than most of the newly born, so to speak, Shades Kenratu has with him. [I]Mykkael stared down the long road for a moment, then pulled Ulrich off into the trees. Several Humvees screamed passed, those inside them looking desperate. After they were gone, without checking for their pursuit, Mykkael walked back out onto the road, and started towards the site of the battle. He called back over to Ulrich, his voice somehow wryly grim.[/I] Mykkael: I should have done this years ago. Come along, we'll have a little fun before we're staked out over an anthill with streams of honey running into our mouth, eyes, and nose. [I]Ulrich shuddered, but walked after him, looking around nervously.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]When the dogs started, Rali was of two minds about the entire thing. On one side, he found them annoying. On the other side, it was good to know something was alive. Then, of course, he found the bloody things. Pun unintended. He was in the middle of a small alleyway, and they came out behind him. He looked at the strange creatures curiously for a moment, before it slowly came to him that something was really screwed up. One of the dogs opened his mouth and almost seemed to smile. Its tongue lolled out, and licked blood off its own face. It bared its teeth, and started to run towards Rali. The rest of the pack hung back for the moment. Rali swore, and looked around quickly. Nothing that looked like it would help him. The debris around him didn't even contain a board with nail. The dog was about twenty metres away, and spilling blood as it ran. Rali swore, and took two bounding steps forward, leaping off his left foot, and stabbing his right leg out. The dog made a small whimpering noise, and fell. Rali landed, and looked at the mishappen beast. It snarled at him pitifully, and slowly got up. Rali backed away. This thing should have been dead long ago. He stared in horror at the dog, the flicker at the corner of his vision warning of the rest of the pack. Rali turned and ran, reaching the end of the alley in what had to be record time. Running out onto a main street, and leapt into a semi ruined car, keys intact, praying the damn thing would start. It did so about the third time, just as the dog he had kicked threw itself against the smashed window. Rali ducked away from the remaining glass and slammed his foot down. He outdistanced the dogs and stopped, not willing to go anyway before working out what the hell was going on. He drew his long knife, keeping it in a backhanded grip against his wrist.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Name: Rali Kreigyr Age: 21 Description: Six foot tall, and as slender as a rail. He has long black hair, a cause of some contention among the military, but trying to get him to cut it raises more problems than it solves. His eyes are dark grey, with flecks of black. His features are attractive, but very, very cold. His nose is thin, and hawklike. Eyebrows are thin, and black. He does his face in grey makeup, with his lips blackened. Skin is dead white. He is solitary, due to his nature and his trade. He's better during the night then the day, as he's a severe nyctophile, and hates sunlight. Speciality: Sniper/infiltration. Weapons and Armor: ST-30K magazine fed rifle, without standard grenade launcher. Also carries a Barret Sniper firle. Wears light combat armour, over concealing black clothing.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Why the hell would you want most of Australia? If I had me a trillion dollars....I'd get mugged.... Or just become a complete bum.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Rali just cursed. He cursed his coffee mug. His coffe brand. His coffee table. Anything else that happened to be within eyesight. The bastards were right. Coffee was not, after all, mithridate. Damn it. Given no further solace, and the small liklihood of finding any here any time soon, Rali somehow got the idea that everything would get better if he understood what was going on. He rummaged around his house, finding some of the strange heavy knuckled gloves he'd kept from his days on the street. The knuckles of the gloves were slightly protruding sections of steel. Very useful. He stalked outside, wondering where exactly he should continue to stalk to first. Deciding the the centre of town was a...what's that word? Oh yes, logical. Deciding that the centre of town was a logical place to start, he kept walking, glaring at any inanimate object unfortunate enough to be in his way.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Sorry Rhys, it wasn't directed at you. It's an ongoing argument between Liam and I...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: Well, say hello to my second character, a human. Just to add something to their side... IC: [I]Ulrich was suffering from jetlag, fatigued, annoyed, and somewhat bored. He, and several men who had ushered him away as soon as they had gotten off the plane, were trudging through the jungle, and had been for quite some time. They wouldn't answer questions, they wouldn't speak to him casually, and they certainly wouldn't permit him to do whatever he wanted. It was getting somewhat tedious. Ulrich didn't even know what the hell they were looking for in this humid, infernally thick undergrowth. There was an excited muttering from those up ahead, and someone ran back shouting something unintelligible to Ulrich. As everyone around him started running, a pace not much faster than a walk in this environment, Ulrich swore, and started to jog himself, to keep up with them. He nearly ran into the back of a large man named Kevin. He, and all the others, were staring into a small clearing up ahead. Blood covered the trees, and a large stone altar rested in the centre.[/I] Kevin: What the hell happened here? [I]Other members of the disparite group were inspecting the bodies. Triumphantly, the held one of the corpses up, revealing large, almost talonlike marks on the throat. Evything started whispering excitedly, but it was undercut by fear. Ulrich looked around, noting that there was a neater blood spray in one direction. Almost like a trail. And, because he was bored, annoyed, and independant, he walked over and started following. It disappeared after a metre or two, but some kind of creature had forced passage through here recently. Within seconds, Ulrich was lost to sight, and angry shouts over his disappearance quickly followed him. Ulrich smiled, and picked up his pace. Serve them right for being a pain in the ***. He lost the almost non-existant trail several times, it taking him nearly an hour to backtrack, all up.Eventually, he slowed his pace, and found he made better time like this. The jungle ended abruptly, terminating a few feet away from a long, straight road. A figure was walking slowly down the road towards him, and it wasn't human. Ulrich's mind jumped back to what had sent him here in the first place. He would be thrice cursed if this wasn't another of these creatures. He walked onto the road to meet it. The strange, black figure halted warily, then narrowed its eyes, or seemed to. Ulrich wasn't too sure. Then, surprisingly enough, it spoke. It had a curious accent, almost English, almost French, almost Irish. It was a strange, ancient sound, though the conversation itself was modern sounding.[/I] Mykkael: You were the man at the great circle of stones. Ulrich: You? You were what I saw? What are you then? Who are you? Mykkael: My name is Mykkael, and I am one of Ikrantu. Albeitly, one long since disassociated with that particular crew, but neverthess, if you want a definition, I woudl suppose that's as good as it gets. [i]Ulrich blinked several times. Here was a non-human entity, standing there, speaking urbanely with him like your average man on the street. Some strange part of his mind said "Well, if it can do it, so can I".[/I] Ulrich: Well, I'm Ulrich Aleksanren. An Irish born, Russian raised druid, and from certain assumptions I can make, I'm here to find out what the hell you're doing here. Mykkael: So that's what you people get up to. I always wondered why you were always sneaking off into the woods... [I]The wry, teasing bent of humour shook Ulrich even more. This thing was definately a modern creature.[/I] Ulrich: How do you know so much about humans? Mykkael: I've been studying you for the past few thousand years... [i]That was it. The batwinged, long-lived, human sounding creature before him was enough. Ulrich's eyes took a decidely interested look at the top of his eye sockets, and he collapsed.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Terry Prachet is not fantasy as a genre, no. As a style, setting, field etc, yes, but not the genre. It's more science fiction humour kind of thing. Told you Liam. Now go read some real fantasy.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Man, when parents pull their kids away from me, which has happened a few times before, I take it as a hell of a compliment. Just a side note. But anyway, I'm gothic, to a fairly extensive degree. I don't wear black lipstick or nail polish, and for good reasons. Can't get decent black lipstick, nails aren't long enough. I'd wear face makeup, but can't get that either. Anyway, I know a fair bit about discrimination because you look like a goth. Hell, I've got long, dyed black hair, and I'm surrounded by a bunch of football addicted hicks. I get a lot of that crap. I long ago ceased to care. In fact, it gets so easy to ignore it it's bizarre. It's like certain words just don't enter your ears or something. As for tatoos and piercings....Well, I have absolutely no problem with tatoos, and intend to get a few later on. I'm not exactly the piercing freak Raven is, but I'm kind of considering getting a few tasteful ones. I don't really like certain piercings, but I have no problem with people who wear them. In fact, they tend to be the more interesting people around. Of course, my opinion there is somewhat biased.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Normally, this kind of thing would go in the recruitment forum, so people know to sign-up, rather than assume it was an rpg started earlier. That's the overview, if you want anything more detailed, ask one of the rpg forum Mods. Just a note.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]It's like some weird take off of Friends, just about eight times more neurotic. Yeah, I've caught an episode or two, and I'd start watching it if I could remember to.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Ye be a sad man Jack. General Are you male or female? [b]Male[/b] How long has your longest relationship lasted? [b]About a year and a half[/b] What was the worst ending to a relationship you have been in?[b]That's the first and only relationship I'm in.[/b] What is the one thing you hope to find in your perfect mate? [b]Raven.[/B] what is your pet peve about the people you date? [b]Haven't had a lot of experience "dating". [/b] Have you ever used a pick up line? [b]Yeah, but not for dating purposes. It was more a joke.[/b] -if so, did it work? [b]Actually...yes.[/b] Have you ever had a pick up line used on you? [b]Once[/b] -if so, did it work? [b]Not really.[/b] Guys only What do you think women want? Chocolate. Based on Raven, that's it. In your opinion, what is the general behavior of women? Anything to confuse and annoy me.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][i]Rali groaned as sunlight streamed through his window. By the look of it, it was aobut noon. He slowly rolled out of bed, hitting the floor hard. He grunted, then cursed loudly, as his head was right below the window, and directly exposed to sunlight. He shut his eyes sharply. He opened them a second later, confused. His heavy shutters weren't in place, something that had taken several moments to enter his fogged mind. He slowly stood up, staggering several times. He looked outside, and was immediately returned to a few years ago. The entire place was abandoned. His immediate thought was that he'd been into some pretty potent stuff, but he forced that away. He'd stopped doing that years ago. He realised he was still dressed, and wondered what he had been doing last night. He started to walk out of the room, running into a chair. He looked down, wondering where his new coat had come from, and why he had bought a ladies coat. Then it hit him. He had had company last night. He stumbled back over to the bed, but found nothing. Someone had gotten up, walked out without waking him up, leaving their coat behind, and disappeared, taking the entirety of the town with them it seemed. Rali wasn't really worried about the disappearances. He wasn't really coherent enough to yet. Never a morning person, years of dissolution had completely ruined his faculties until normally around twilight. He managed to get down nearly all of the stairs, falling only on the last three. Something he managed rarely these days. He caught himself on instinct, and got up. One day he'd kill himself. Someone, he couldn't remember who, had told him to move, but he couldn't really be bothered. Rali slowly walked towards the door, gathering some semblance of co-ordination. Opening it, he looked around, and collapsed against the door frame, finally realising that something was very, very wrong. He looked around in disbelief, then stumbled back into the house, determined to prove that all problems go away in the face of a good cup of coffee in the morning.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]*Rereads own submission. Starts cursing*. To answer the question about the question marks... Well, I typed it out, proof read it and all, whatnot, then saved it in Open Office, with the annoying format they use. I intended to post it immediately, but the power started flickering, so I had to post in a hurry. It went out once, came on for again, with just enough time for me to reconnect, reopen the document, and post it. Unfortunately, it went out again then, so I didn't have time to reread it. The question marks were some kind of wierd formatting error due to the fact that Open Office automatically saves in .sxw format, but opens in some other text format, that I've yet to be able to determine, because the stupid thing won't tell me. Really, really not happy about that. Even less happy about Quark Xpress not working...[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]If you want me to use something a little more ordinary, characterwise, then I'll edit this. Otherwise, once again, go the Lythanoid... Name: Rali Kreigyr Age: 21 in human years. Lythanoid don't measure time much. Race: Lythanoid Weapon: Doesn't really need one. BIO/Looks: Okay then...time to get started... Anyway. A lythanoid is a subterranean creature, born and raised in darkness. Their skin is jet black, as are mosr creatures in their realm, excepting their face. Their face has a slight, internal grey glow. This glow emits no light, but makes their face readable. Lythanoids average about six feet tall, Rali is an inch over that, and are very slender. Lythanoid have four arms, each terminating in a set of five taloned fingers, and batlike, membraneous wings. They are not directly suited for flying, for reasons that will be discussed further onwards, but can be used for short glides. Lythanoids are reptilian by the way, their skin is scaly, excepting the face, which is flesh. As such, they do have hair, which is quite often the only colourless part of their body. In fact, black haired Lythanoids are the rarest of all. Rali's hair is a strange metallic, almost glossy silver, a characteristic common to his race. Because of their habitat, Lythanoids have a very high resistance to heat, due to their internal temperature. This temperature is considerably higher than your average furnace. As well, they have a substantial control over their internal temperature. Anyway...Lythanoid's have one unique feature. Rather than bones, they possess specialised muscles, called [i]sceiyphs[/I]. These muscles act as bone, but are more flexible, and possess only rudimentary joints. In actuality, a lythanoid can bend its limbs at any point. Torso muscles are slightly less mobile. (It is for this reason that lythanoid's can't fly, as the muscles aren't quite as strong as bone). These [i]sceiyphs[/i] also cause the lythanoid to bely their slender appearance. Everything under the skin is muscular, excepting organs and body systems, so lythanoids tend to be physically powerful. To give a summary description of Rali, he is six foot, one inch, slender, with silver hair that falls to about his shoulder. He wears (yes, these creatures do wear rudimentary clothing) long black leather pants, leaving his torso bare. Let's face it, he's not exactly going to get sunburnt... Rali was born to a tribe of lythanoids that existed near a large magma flow. Life was simple, they hunted for food, gave Rali a rudimentary education, and worshiped the darkness, as Lythanoid's do. Rali grew up hunting the savage creatures of the great cave systems beneath the earth, and as such, learnt to survive pretty early on. (Lythanoids tend to be fully physically mature by about age 13). Rali was also apprenticed, for a brief time, to the shaman of the tribe, and has a rudimentary control over shadow because of it. When Rali would have been about 15, this magma flow suddenly became an inconvenience. A fire drake, a great subterranean reptile that dwarfs nearly all surface creatures, was swimming along in this flow, and decided the tribe would make a tasty snack. The warriors fought back, but didn't even manage to dent the thing's scales. Rali survived only because he leapt into the lava flow at the beginning of the fight, and swam for his life. He did this at the urging of the tribe's shaman, rather than any cowardice. When the firedrake had finished its meal, the colossal beast returned to the lava and started swimming, coming up in the same cavern as Rali did, which opened into a volcano. Neither creature being particularly fond of sunlight, the drake retreated. Rali kept climbing the cavern wall. The drake could easily have reared up and picked him off the very rim of the volcano's maw, but chose not to do so. Rali, the first of his kind to travel the surface, quickly found many people thought him some kind of demon. A black, bat winged, four armed creature, demonic? Why, surely not.... Actually, when he found at what exactly a demon was, he wasn't too surprised. Rali ended up living a mercenary for hire. The very sight of him defending a castle wall or what not normally made the attackers have second thougts. Or, at least, send twenty or thirty priests in first. When they couldn't banish Rali, they really got confused. Rali has quite a few contacts from his mercenary exploits running around, they're basically the only friends he has. And he has earned that friendship through the heat of battle and the cold of death. Very few people who had not experienced that along side him could ever learn to trust or like such a strange creature. As a being raised in darkness however, Rali wasn't really concerned. Solitude was a way of life.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]That is somehow creepily, uncannily, correct. Very confused... Anyway, as for me. My Alter-Ego: Arithon s'Ffalen, from Janny Wurts' Curse of The Mistwraith series. How my personality matches his: Introverted and solitary. Satirical, sarcastic, and sharp with anyone who attempts to get close to me. Although, I'm very attached to the close friends I do have. Have a nasty conscience that plagues me. Do I look like him: Well, Arithon is short, black haired, green eyed. I'm only the second one, and that's only because of dye. Ah well. Either Arithon s'Ffalen...or Dennis Leary.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Alright. Here's my human sign up then. Name: Ulrich Aleksandren Race: Human, of course. Age: 24 Bio: Ulrich is a druid. He was born to Celtic/Irish parents, who died when he was a newborn. Ulrich was adopted by Russian parents, who named him. He grew up in Russia, received a decent, though not great education, mainly studying Irish history. At this point, he didn't know why he was different to all those around him. He found out when he turned 15, as set down in his parent's Will. Ulrich's parents took him on a trip to his homeland, and Ulrich fell in love with the place. When his parents tried to leave, he ran away, as they were boarding the plane. Ulrich never saw them again. For years, he struggled to survive, living on very little food, without shelter, and quite often having to resort to crime to survive. He was eventually thrown out of the small Irish village he resided in, and wandered through the forest until he came across a large pine clearing. He walked into the middle and fell asleep. He was woken up by a group of angry, white robed men, who spoke the ancient language. Well, they were more shouting it at him. He had heard the language enough to recognise it, but couldn't speak it. He started stammering about his circumstances, basically giving them a life story. One of the druids, a good-natured man of about 23, walked over, grabbed Ulrich's arm, and lifted him up. He spoke to him firmly, this time in English. He said "Ye know boy, ye'd do better staying with us". And that was it. They cleaned him up, and gave him a better education. He was about 17 at the time. Anyway, he was indoctrinated, and the druid who adopted him, a man named Michael, eventually became the Archdruid of their circle, Ulrich at his side. Ulrich, though Michael's confidante, was only a minor druid, and was relegated to the outer ring in ceremonies. One solstice, in a great convocation of many circles, Ulrich was excluded altogether, and had to stand in the forest, with many other minor initiate. Part-way through, a shard of bark fell, and struck his forehead. Looking up, he saw a strange, humanoid creature, watching from the tree above. It saw him, and seemed to quail, but Ulrich just smiled. The creature relaxed, and looked back to the ceremony. Ulrich did likewise. Later, when Ulrich mentioned it to Michael, he received a very strange reaction. Michael stiffened, and immediately sent him on a plane to America, to find out whether they had ben released. Ulrich, not even sure what he was talking about, went anyway.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]As he stumbled wearily along the road, Mykkael heard the explosion. More importantly, he felt it. It resonated inside him, making him think he had inadvertantly dropped his guard. But this was different. This...sang to him. It stirred his soul, that long cold and hidden thing within him he refused to admit existed. He refused to associate himself with his people anymore. But now, now that they had engineered some kind of disaster, now that they had returned in what had to be force, he could not deny the call. Bloodlust, something that only occasionally wakened him to fury, rushed through him. It filled his veins with a very different fire to anything else. It was a unique emotion, something trancendental of reality. It eclipsed all. Suddenly, Mykkael knew how the blood that still stained his skin felt. The rampant thrill must have been intoxicating. Very nearly, he slipped off his gloves, to lose himself in the maelstrom of fouled weapons and broken souls. Very nearly, he fell away from himself. But it quietened within him. Logic, cold, faithful logic, prevailed. If it came down to it, and there were any who remembered him, then most likely he would be as much of a target as anyone else.[/font][/color][/I]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Told you Cloricus. Anyway Ken, if you think that the human's are outnumbered, I have no problem with dumping Mykkael and signing up as a human.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Mykkael slumped against a tree, flicking his talons, sluicing excess blood off his gloves. On other parts of his body, the blood tinged his dark skin a strange, ethereal purple. The moonlight streamed down over him, bringing with it a measure of peace. Photons bouncing around in the air struck him, but he ignored their miniscule histories. He looked back, trying to pierce the gloom and the foliage, almost willing himself to see the clearing, almost willing himself to turn and run. He chose something inbetween the two, turning and slowly walking away. The clearing was far behind him, but the slaughter was not, floating along, sticking to him, writhing all over him. The blood that had been spilled, covering his skin, hissed and tried to get inside. He knew that if he took his gloves off, he'd be unconscious in half a second. He stumbled along aimlessly, not trusting his self control enough to take to the trees. Eventually, the woodland thinned, and he found himself on one of those long stretches of black stone the humans called roads, in their barbaric degeneration of a language.[/I] OOC: Eh, pressed for time.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Mykkael floated in pristine blackness. Perhaps floated was not the right word, but it seemed more to capture his situation. The detachment, the sense of being removed from existance, the curious sense of becoming a cosmic onlooker, upon this myriad entwinement of the threads of other's pitiful lives, until the collective strand was not so pitiful after all, but one of the many great seams, holding the multiverse together, keeping a tightknit sense of belonging that allowed them to traverse the adversity the frays in the string sometimes caused. Truly, Mykkael though, so much time on his hands had turned him into a creature of metaphor. But then, he thought such thoughts often, and was ambivalent towards any deeper meaning they may ever have had. In reality, Mykkael hung, batlike, from the limb of some kind of tree. It was not a massive tree, and not a massive branch. But the tree had not yet reached its full height, and the branch was able to bear his weight. It was dark around him, asiding the firelight set down by those he observed. Tiring of his odd position, he pulled himself up, wings agilely avoiding the branch as he slithered onto it. Folding those wings, he reclined against the tree broad, but less than imposing trunk. Many below him did the same, one even to the very tree Mykkael sat in. But then, from what Mykkael had seen of such people before, they communed with nature, worshipped it even. Mykkael did not know the word for such men, having first encountered them in the grea stone circle on an island far from his current location, he was fairly certain of their identity. What these people were doing in the jungle was beyond him. Why he was here was beyond him. He was closer to his people than he had been in centuries, and though it did not rankle, it did cause...curiousity. Curiousity as to whether he would be seen by the strange men. Curiousity as to whether he would be seen by his own people. Curiousity as to whether he really cared at this point. Curious as to what exactly the men were doing now... ...A stone block, basalt or some similar rock, had been dragged into the small clearing. As it did so, it brushed against the tree Mykkael perched in. Absently, he relaxed his mental restrictions, letting the images flow into his mind. [b]The sound of a vast sea...no, merely the sap, and nutriets, running through vascular tissue... Heartbeats...seasons...not so many as those around it, those that choked the light, strangled the soil, spawned sharp branches that broke leaves...[/b] Mykkael left of scanning the images for a second, surprised, as he always as, how hateful a tree could really be, when given the right circumstances. He wasn't sure what kind of tree he sat upon, but he knew it was not a serene oak, or melancholy willow, or capricious rowan, or stoic pine, or capricious cyprus... Or one of the many other personalities trees seemed to embody. Mykkael's thoughts spun off on a tangent, absently wondering whether the destruction of certain types of trees led to the dissolving of certain emotions in other creatures... He sighed, and plunged back into the tree's world, skipping forward to the present. [b]Stone, harsh, unyeilding stone, so much more abrasive and standoffish than its cousin the soil. Dark, tainted stone, nasty in thought and habit. It boasted of its superiority over the tree, conversing with that most simplest of coversations, directly imparted electrical signals, minute transmissions that most mortals were not even aware happened. Yet all existing things spoke to each other, in what would have been a great cacophony to deafen all with ears, save that it made no noise. The stone was tinged with other beings, if you will. Other entities. Chief among these was the primal majick, the unsubisiding storm that only came with spilled blood. It was relentless, rapacious, yet somehow engorged with sadness, as if all the senselss destruction it sought to bring sprang only from its lingering dementia. After all, what is hate and insanity, but love left no outlet but to tear itself to death, on bars fashioned by the person impelled to feel love, but impelled not to express it? Or one who hides it, forces it down. The blood knew not of this, only sought to destroy, as it had been destroyed, leaving only this unclean residue with most were blessed enough not to be able to find.[/b] The men were tearing off robes now, revealing strange designs. Other banner and signs sprang up, and a long, black ataghan now lay on the altar. A strange noise cut through the air, causing Mykkael to start. A slight chinking noise, then some kind of bleating noise. A goat, led by a chain, was savagely pulled towards the altar... Mykkael turned away, though he was no stranger to death. It was more that he didn't want the resonance to unman him. He heard strange, guttural words, and one word he knew well. Satan. So, this was who these depraved maniacs sought to appease with their wanton killing. Satan. A former Shade himself, merely one who chose to elevate himself to greathood through crass intimidation. Well, these men would have their shade tonight. Mykkael leapt down from the tree, gliding silently into the clearing. He would not have been noticed, save that his silhouette momentarily obscured the moonlight, which reflected off the blood on the altar. Strangely enough, they all bowed. Truly, they were devout. Many who peformed this ritual ran at the first sight of it actually having an effect. As Mykkael lashed out, his left arm tearing the face off one man, his right sweeping over his shoulder to draw his ancient sword, and slice another, the knife weilder, the high priest, leapt over the altar, brandishing his infernal althame. Mykkael spun slightly, knocking the man's arm away with a spike tipped wing, before again facing him. As the man's momentum carried him forward, Mykkael slammed his head forward. There was a sharp crack, and the man died. Around him, others ran. Save one foolish, eager young man, who died screaming as he waved a burning brand and called upon the Great Darkness to deliver him. Mykkael, unthinking, sat down on the altar. He leapt up as if burned. He stared it a long moment, before closing his mind off, and leaving the clearing as hurriedly as he could. [b]The altar itself endured, proud of its feared reputation among the existants around it. It endured long, until the blood-born maelstrom within it tore it apart, long out of sight and mind of any sentient being. Some small woodland creature stopped, and cocked its head, looking curiously at the exploding stone. Another shrieked, a high pitched yell of defiance, as a small stone splinter pierced the body of its mate, and leapt into the clearing, only to find dust. The trees watched, but made no move to intervene, administered no criticism, lauded no praises.[/font][/color][/I][/b]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Well, didn't that crawl into a hole and die? Not too sure whether I'm referring to my post, or the entire thing in general though... Anyway, my vote goes to Mitch, due to my reprehensible effort.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Name: Mykkael Race: Shade Age: 4000 or so. He doesn't really keep track anymore. Weapon: [img]http://www.1sks.com/images/coldsteel/cs-88cws_sm.jpg[/img] Blade is 17 inches long, hilt is 14 inches. Supernatural Power: Psychometery. Basically, every bit of matter in the universe has an energy aura. This aura leaves impressions, images, on matter around. Psychometery is the ability to view these mental images. Picking up a stone, for example, could give you a twenty thousand year history of that rock in under a second. Bio:Mykkael is an outcast shade, due to a slight indiscretion involving the Shade's history. They have a few secrets about their past that they don't particularly like, and that the majority or their people aren't supposed to know. Mykkael's unique ability posed a few problems. And when he started exposing the sick sad truth...well, it was either exile or death. Mykkael had always been shunned anyway, so leaving hadn't been too hard. He'd lived in dark places away from all life for years. Tends to come out on Halloween every now and again though. Always gets complimented on his costume... And, he's been known to make himself a good enough psychic to almost get himself a television show... You know, the whole, I know all about your past because I spoke to your dead relatives thing. But then he realised he'd have to touch people. Description: Six foot tall, and very slender. Skin is a hard, glossy black, without reflecting light. Crimson design on his head has darkened to a dull read, due to his prolonged seperation from his people. The design itself is two concentric circles, with wavy lines joining the circumfrances at several points. From certain angles, it looks a lot like the iris of an eye. Mykkael's face has a slight grey, internal glow, though the features themselves are black as the rest of his skin. It makes his face readable. His wings are more developed than the average Shade, and he can use them for short periods of flight. Mainly due to the neccessity of getting out of places quickly...a task he's performed quite a few times. Wears specially made black leather gloves, as it is his hands that are most sensitive to auric resonance. From any other part of his body, he can black the images off. Personality wise, Mykkael is basically what you would expect. Though not bitter, he is cynical, introverted, almost mercurial in moods, and secretive. He tends not to trust anyone, though he hasn't got close enough to trust anybody for a good five hundred years. He is canny, but relatively uneducated, for a Shade. Knows a lot about history though... Mykkael has been observing humans for years, and has found almost a kinship with certain members of their society. The outcasts, the goths, the freaks. He's considered actually meeting some of them face to face at times, but has never dared take that ultimate step.[/font][/color]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Dalamar stalked back and forth, swearing to himself under his breath. He rounded on Usha sharply, his hand snaking out, grabbing her cheeks with his thumb and forefinger. She flinched, choked down a scream.[/I] Dalamar: How much of this do you know? Usha: I....don't know anything about it. Dalamar: Thrice cursed! This isn't enough information. And there aren't many limits as to what I would do to get that information.[/font][/color]